


thought devours

by wickersnap



Series: Wizarding Photographs [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (if you're wondering), Fun Facts, Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch Locker Rooms, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Takes place in 1995, it's not underage in the uk if you're 16, mid Triwizard tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickersnap/pseuds/wickersnap
Summary: George Weasley stands under the spray of the shower with his forehead pressed firmly against the chilled tile wall.
Relationships: Cassius Warrington/George Weasley, mentioned Harry Potter/George Weasley - Relationship
Series: Wizarding Photographs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938757
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57





	thought devours

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous, I know, but I really wanted to write a little explanation for the in-joke the Slytherins have around book five in the main series. And then the inspiration kind of... took over...  
> ;)

George Weasley stands under the spray of the shower with his forehead pressed firmly against the chilled tile wall. Water cascades onto his back, stinging the scratches and pockmarks and acne scars that refuse to heal. It’s late afternoon and he’s sure he should be heading back to the castle, but he can’t for the life of him persuade himself to move. No, not when he’s still yet to drown out all these thoughts that he most certainly should  _ not _ be having. 

And about his brother’s best friend, no less. Whom he  _ kissed. _

Summoned to the forefront, a number of the thoughts he wants to avoid start jockeying for attention. There are the innocent ones, the sweet ones that are memories of warmth and kindness and a split-second spark of something undeniable. Unfortunately there are also the others—the fantasies—that even in their purest, least incriminating moments make George feel dirty, perverted, and wholly undeserving of Harry Potter’s friendship. It’s one of those less-than-innocent ones that makes its way into his imagination when he squeezes his eyes tightly shut in a poor attempt to block them out. He can feel the water dripping from his hair and down his nose and arms and legs and chest but he can also feel the ghosts of non-existent hands feeling their way across him. Teasing. Enticing.

“Jesus fuck, Weasley!” someone yelps behind him. George tenses immediately and twists his neck so he can look over his shoulder. Thank god his hands are still firmly fisted against the wall, is all he can think.

Cassius Warrington stands in the changing room behind him, his undershirt hanging from his elbows where he’s in the middle of removing it. He stares at George with a frown on his face and his mouth parted, and George sort of wants to hit him.

“What the fuck do  _ you _ want, Warrington?” he asks.

“Oi,” he protests roughly. “I just came in after using the pitch, it’s not my fault if you don’t know how to lock a goddamn door!”

“And you couldn’t hear the shower running?” George snaps. Warrington slants his gaze away at that, dropping it towards the floor as he fails to come up with an excuse. “Well, are you just going to stand and watch me?”

“No,” Warrington says. George narrows his eyes at him when instead of turning around and fucking off, he finishes stripping off his vest and his hands go to the waist of his jodhpurs. Everyone knows the Slytherins use this room when they’re not playing against Gryffindor, just as everyone knows that members of opposing teams do not shower together. Ever. It’s probably the golden of unspoken rules, a clause that comes under ‘Opposing teams do not use the same changing room at all ever in the entire duration of existence because it will not end well, at all,  _ ever.’ _ Still, Warrington seems not to have gotten the memo (or has conveniently forgotten all of his social conformities), and steps into the shower next to George’s.

George wants to growl. He sort of wants to reach out and punch him in the gut. He  _ really _ wants his haywire body to stop trying to notice every guy that walks within five feet of him, lately, because this naked bloke at his elbow is really messing with his head. 

Both of them. 

Terrible joke. He’s not sorry.

“You all right, Weasley?” Warrington asks, slathering shampoo over his hands and ruffling it into his short, murky dark hair.

“Fine,” George grits out. His fists flex against the tiles and he closes his eyes again in a good attempt at ignoring the universe—especially his inconvenient problem.

Warrington hums. “I mean, you look like you could do with a hand.”

“Piss off. Like you’re offering.”

“Maybe I am.”

George’s eyes snap open. He slides a look over at Warrington, who is continuing to pretend he’s entirely unaffected as he washes his (fit, toned, gorgeous) body down. What George  _ can _ see, however, is the twitch of Warrington’s half-hard cock when he notices he has an audience.

“What’s in it for you, then?” he asks. He feels dangerous. Excited. This is an awful idea. “I’m hardly going to let you swan around boasting about the ease of Gryffindors and Weasleys.” He smirks. “Which is another point… Do you even know which one I am?”

“Yes,” Warrington says waspishly. “I’m not a total idiot.”

“Ha,” George snorts. “Somehow I don’t feel so inclined to believe you.”

“I don’t care,” Warrington replies, and somehow he’s sidled close enough without George noticing to reach out and take a firm hold of his cock. George inhales sharply and nearly chokes, with water running into his mouth and nose when his head slips to the side. Warrington fingers the length of his shaft unabashedly and trails all the way down to the base and back up, running a nail like a breath over his head.

“Fuck,” George whispers. His legs quiver and his hands slide on the tiles. When he forces his eyes open again Warrington is fucking smirking, and he decides then and there that that just can’t fly.

Quick as he can, George twists and grabs hold of Warrington’s waist, shoving him against the wall. He drops to his knees before either of them can really register what he’s doing and Warrington’s hand hovers in the air where his cock had been only a second ago. Warrington’s skin, a dark tan underneath George’s banshee-pale, is slick and slippery in his palms. George digs his thumbs into the best notches he can find in the bloke’s hipbones and curls his fingers like talons around his sides, licking his lips in anticipation when Warrington’s newly full cock bobs in front of him.

“Circe’s spirit—” 

Warrington hisses the moment George tests out the tip of his cock between his lips. He sucks gently, licking out along the shaft and releasing one hip to tease his base and balls. He gradually takes in more and more, pulling back to lick stripes along his length and swirl the flat of his tongue around and around and tease him, one tip to another.

“So,” Warrington says, strangled. “How many times have you done this, Weasley?”

“None,” George answers around him. He hums a little again when he realises the vibrations have Warrington whining—or maybe it was his admission, who knows. Some people have a thing for that.

Hands scrabbling at the top of his head lead to fingers sliding through his sodden hair and pulling. George can’t help the sound he makes, surprised and forced farther onto Warrington’s cock and just a bit turned on. One hand fists in the rattail strands and awkwardly begins to guide him up and down, so he focuses on alternating his sucking and tonguing and licking and stroking. It’s almost fun, he thinks, to find out what makes a Slytherin tick this way. At least, it is when his jaw isn’t aching something awful. As things are he’s well bloody relieved when Warrington is reduced to short gasps and tiny moans that he fails terribly at hiding, and when his knees lock and legs tremble and he begins pushing at George’s forehead it’s a victory. George smirks and soldiers on for a touch longer, enough to have Warrington desperate and  _ right on the edge _ before he pulls right the way back and licks delicately at the top of his cock again. 

Warrington comes against George’s lips. George puts his hand up to take hold of him again and, hope to Merlin, stop the stuff getting in his hair. He looks up, over Warrington’s frankly fantastic abs and chest, to smirk at the way he pants and lets his head fall back against the tiles with a clunk. The hand still in George’s hair slackens, and the other whose nails have been digging into his shoulder splays out over the base of his throat. It travels upwards as Warrington cracks open his eyes to return George’s gaze. Two fingers swipe slowly through the come splashed across his cheek and then his lips, drawing rough pads across sensitive skin and making him shiver. 

Without warning the hand takes hold of George’s jaw and moves in tandem with the one in his hair to yank him up and back under the main spray of water. Warrington’s lips press hungrily against his the very moment he stumbles forwards into that chest, and George makes a strangled, muffled noise in the back of his throat. A tongue enters his mouth and licks behind his teeth and brushes against his own and he doesn’t bother fighting it, not when the feeling is so satisfying, has him hot and riled up all over again, and is definitely not something Warrington will want to brag about to his friends later. Not to mention that no one’s ever volunteered to do this to him before.

George’s hands rest against Warrington’s chest while they kiss. His fingers curl and twitch against his wet skin, and when Warrington’s own hands begin to wander down and grope him (his shoulders, his sides, his arse, his legs), he really can’t be blamed for rubbing his still-hard cock over Warrington’s solid thigh and hip. Warrington mumbles something harsh and unintelligible, and for one heart-pounding moment George thinks it’s his name—his  _ first _ name—but it can’t be. Warrington doesn’t have a bloody clue who he is… And now George is reminded, much, much too late, of why this was a terrible idea.  _ Maybe, _ he thinks as he bites down on Warrington’s lip, maybe he should’ve given a bit more thought to what this might mean for Fred later.

Warrington’s hand slips between his arse cheeks, fondling his bollocks from behind, and George moans.

“Come here,” Warrington growls. Through his haze of ‘oh, god,  _ yes,’ _ George thinks he isn’t quite sure how they could get any closer. Fortunately or not, Warrington seems to have other ideas, grabbing him roughly by the hips and spinning them so it’s George’s back against the wall. He then turns George around and George fumbles to hold onto the tiles, still perplexed even as his hips are pulled back and his legs stand themselves farther apart. Hands stroke down his arse and thighs and George has a moment of clarity and panic, because he was all right with a quick hand job at the start but now he’s here and Warrington is a brute and his cock is as thick as Merlin’s fist and George has no idea what he’s going to do to him and—

_ “Oh!” _ he groans, loudly, because oh  _ fuck, _ that’s good, he can keep doing  _ that. _ Warrington licks teasingly up the insides of both his thighs before nosing back into his arse and poking his tongue gently around the weird, soft rim of his entrance. “Oh,  _ god.” _

“Not quite,” Warrington chuckles, and the gravelly depth of his voice sizzles straight through George’s sternum and down to his cock.

“I’ll—mmph! I’ll kick you in the dick!” George gasps out. He could, he knows, and Warrington knows he knows—he’s kneeling right there, his hands pulling George’s arse cheeks apart so he can push his wriggling tongue into George’s hole. Still, he laughs into George, and  _ dear fucking GOD. _

“Cassius!” George whines. His back arches between Warrington’s mouth and the wall his hands fumble so desperately to keep a hold of. Water sparks along his spine and pelts the small of his back, but that barely even registers because he’s whining and moaning and generally being a complete and utter embarrassment because good Merlin does this feel heavenly. 

Cassius pushes his arse even farther into the air and goes down on him without a hint of reservation. George’s cheek and temple hit the cool tiles and still it does nothing to assuage the overwhelming heat of sensation welling up inside him. Probing fingers wrap around his cock again from between his legs and begin to stroke. George gasps and nearly bucks his hips, and it’s lucky that Cassius moves with him because really this is not what he wants to explain to Madam Pomfrey when she asks how he managed to break Warrington’s nose outside of quidditch.

The fingers on his cock twist and speed up. George bites down on his lip to hold in his whines and his babbling; he really does not want to be saying anything to or about Warrington where anyone can hear. Warrington takes it as encouragement and works even harder, licking relentlessly inside George and wanking him with unerring precision until George keens and comes like that over the wall, striping it in the second before it’s washed away by the rush of the shower.

Warrington withdraws from George’s arse and stands slowly. Still coming down from his high, George can feel him moving behind him, but still he doesn’t anticipate the hands that grasp his hips and push him up and prop him against the wall. The shower knob squeaks twice and the water shuts off. Panting, George turns and digs in his heels to keep himself from slipping on the floor. He gazes at Warrington with heavily lidded eyes and gets a very intense stare in return. 

“All right, Weasley?” 

George nods. “All right, Warrington?”

Warrington lifts an amused brow above his smirk. “Yep,” he replies, almost lazily, and lifts his left hand to his mouth. George’s eyes snap to it immediately upon the realisation that he’s licking George’s come from his fingers, and he can’t keep himself from watching every movement as closely as he can bear. Warrington only smiles wider.

“Fancy doing this again sometime?” he asks.

“I’m not going to be your dirty little Slytherin secret,” George scoffs. “I’m not your whore.”

Warrington looks even more infuriatingly amused. “Who said anything about that?”

“No one,” George says. “But don’t bother. I don’t want my brother getting involved in this mess. Trust me, he won’t be half as accommodating.”

“Fred Weasley won’t know nothin’,” Warrington promises smugly. He wanders across the room and barely has to towel himself off before he can step into his clothes, all the while George is left gaping after him, dripping and shivering.

“How did you know?” he finally manages to ask.

Warrington ties off his shoelaces and stands up, eyeing George with appreciation. “I told you,” he says. “I’m not that much of an idiot.”

And then George is alone, still dripping, still shivering, and altogether dumbfounded in the showers of the Gryffindor-Slytherin changing rooms.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and shame me for this over on [tumblr](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)


End file.
